thx for bein my fir
by inkspiration
Summary: There are two men in the world Peter Parker knows of who will spend their day, completely naked, making a snow angel in the streets of New York City. Wade Wilson, and Cletus Kasady. There is one man who will eat anyone who approaches him and questions him as he does so. That's Cletus.


There are two men in the world Peter Parker knows of who will spend their day, completely naked, making a snow angel in the streets of New York City.

Wade Wilson, and Cletus Kasady.

There is one man who will eat anyone who approaches him and questions him as he does so.

_That's_ Cletus. Wade kills people, but he prefers tacos to liver. And he doesn't have robotic legs that spark every time he gets the bloody snow all over his thighs. He's singing something, too, his head tossed back while he hums surprisingly well.

Parker is perched over the Stratton Oakmont building, crouched with his arm resting over his knee as he watches a circle of cars and police surround Kasady, plenty of rifles pointed at him and a man shouting into a megaphone: "Clear the area and step into the police car, _now_." There's a group of three SHIELD agents, and Peter's eyes glance to them only temporarily, taking in their seriousness and frustration before his line of vision settles on Cletus again. There's a layer of soupy fog on the ground, and mist every where from the temperature of warm breath mingling with the cold New York winter air. Up on the building, it's much colder, and Peter huddles closer to himself while observing the odd man. How he can seem completely comfortable settled in the ice like it's a bed baffles Spider-man. Maybe the symbiote in his system warms him up, who knows?

Eventually, everyone quiets as Kasady sits up on his elbows, only sirens blaring, voices ceased, and Parker has to listen close to hear him. He can't pick up what he's saying until he yells.

"And do you _WANT TO KNOW WHY THAT IS?! BECAUSE BRUNO MARS ISN'T MAD AT ME FOR MAKING A SNOW ANGEL!_" Spider-man stands up the same time Cletus does, the dismembered arm in his grasp falling to the ground with the rest of the carcass he's hollowed out. If he'd been closer, he might have emptied his stomach. Kasady is covered with spit and blood.

And then he reels back as a shot is taken, a screech passing from his vocal cords.

_No no no, no no no_, Peter thinks. Cletus stills, and his head drops to the bullet in his arm. His fingers dig in and he yanks it out with a snarl.

_No._

Blood trickles down his forearm.

_Shit._

"That hurt," Kasady says. As the red begins to over-take him, and many civilians run for cover, Peter springs into action. Pointing his wrists away from him, he sends his webbing to Carnage, and it sticks to his skin easily. Carnage is a lot smaller than Venom, which, in Peter's case, is fantastic. Pulling him up, Peter readies himself for a fight, crouching back as a few civilians below cry out in relief.

_Yeah, yeah, your superhero is coming to the rescue. And at what price do you pay for this super-service? $13.46? $99.99 plus tax? No, for reasons even _I _can't fathom, we do this for free._

His inner sarcastic banter is cut short as Carnage pounces on him, a grin on his horrifying face. _When did he get onto the roof?! How'd he get behind me?!_ Peter spins around and is tackled, the web that had been sticking to Cletus now disconnected and dead in the snow. His sharp teeth are red, white eyes lacking emotion. He's sure, though, that had his symbiote peeled back (it's not often it does—Cletus is far more lost than Eddie is) his pupils would be blown wide. Only now does he silently beg to see Kasady's green iris instead of a smooth alien shell.

Parker grunts as his back collides with the concrete, his air knocked out of him. Cletus settles atop him, chin in his claws as he presses his chest to his as if he's having a leisurely conversation with his girlfriend. He probably ate his girlfriend. No wait, he pushed the girl that rejected him in front of a bus. That's right. Peter has a copy of his file stowed away under his bed.

Peter groans as his claws make their way over his face, scraping the mask open. Red gashes draw over his face like ink.

"Oh, Parker! Parker, Parker, I'm so happy to see you!" he smiles, sitting up and pinning his wrists to the ground, squeezing them to prevent getting his face caught with the web again. "What have you been up to, itsy bitsy spider?" Honestly, Peter prefers this childish nickname to Venom's hiss of _Spiiiider_. Struggling beneath him (just get my feet on his abdomen and push him up, roll to the side, and) he listens surprisingly intently as Kasady continues. "You know, I'm glad it's just you and I this time. Usually you gotta bring along the Spice Girls."

When he stands up, Peter's eyes widen in fear, the weight that had been settling atop him disappearing all too fast. It's a false illusion of freedom, an eerie emptiness that scares Peter. And too fast, Carnage's foot connects with his middle. He escapes most of the blow, however, sending his webbing to the generator behind him, yanking him out of the symbiote's reach.

"Ohhh, no, no, no, Spider-man," Kasady's tendrils connected to his suit wrap around his middle, pulling his arms down to in a make-shift straight-jacket type of thing. He lifts him in the air, Parker struggling in the grasp as Carnage laughs maniacally beneath him. He's getting claustrophobic, the grip on his middle cutting off his air. "You—"

"HEY!" Parker yells to the hundreds of people below the building, "I COULD USE A LITTLE HELP, GUYS!"

He doesn't know what he's expecting; maybe a "Nah, I think you got this." What he does get is a shocking nothing. Either they can't hear them over Carnage's shriek over his words or they choose to ignore him. Neither would surprise Peter.

Then he's thrown onto the icy ground again. His cuts hitting the snow send a burning sensation up his body. When Carnage crouches over him once more, he rips his mask off. "Why you hidin', Pig?" he hisses, using his favorite insult. Then, the panic starts setting in. He's off his game. "Why don't we just show everyone your pretty face, baby?"

"No, no, Cletus, please don't," he cries as he tosses the mask behind him. His clawed hand goes to grip Peter's chin.

"Begging!" What is Peter expecting, then? 'I like it when you beg.' That's probably something Deadpool or Eddie would say. Instead, Cletus calls him a pussy. Okay, maybe Wade would say that too. "You look real nice like this, you know. You'd be a good kid without that tongue of yours. Talk too much, Pig." His fingers go to Peter's lips, and he clamps his teeth down in fear.

"Should rip your tongue right outta your throat!" Carnage shrieks, and raises his hand. He squeezes his eyes shut, his breath coming in fast, terrified pants. All of his appendages have no use, his diaphragm is basically crushed beneath Kasady's other's weight.

But when he thinks he's about to die, Kasady's body falls off of him, rolling across the roof until he's teetering the line that would send him to his death from this height. He's human again, the sonic disruptor having his symbiote peel back into his body. Spider-man is too distracted by Cletus' human form curled up in pain, screaming with his hands on his head to see who his savior was. Quickly, Peter gets to his feet and sprints over. He kneels beside the redhead and grabs his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face. What he sees is terrifying. When this was used on Eddie, he had fallen into a deep sleep.

Apparently, Cletus is a much more persistent enemy. Vaguely, Peter wonders if he's ever slept. His feet slip in the snow, and he inhales sharply, falling to his knees beside Cletus. He meets that face that's scaring him so much. His normally green irises are a bleached color, his pupils bright white. His mouth is parted in a scream, the scar over his lip stretching far too wide. His teeth are bright white, stained with blood.

"Cletus!" he cries, watching as his eyes slowly fall to their normal color.

"Sonic Shrapnel," Cletus laughs between his cries, his bionic legs curling up to his bare chest. "No fair."

Feet pad behind him in a sprint, and Peter looks over his shoulder, his hands still gripping Kasady's tight. "Clint?" he questions the archer, holding a gun that's way too big on his tiny frame.

Hawkeye, covered in a big coat and without his mask, raises an eyebrow. "Next time, you better be quieter. You're right next to my apartment building." Peter sags in relief, pulling the screaming Cletus further into safety.

"And the disruptor?" he asks, nodding towards it.

"Since that incident in Colorado, I got Ben to give me one." Peter wants to raise an eyebrow and ask him just how he got Ben to agree with him on anything, much less give him something of his, but is interrupted by a splat of snow falling on his nose. He looks up and notices it's snowing lightly. Clint comes closer and crouches down beside the two. Apparently, Kasady has screamed himself out, because he's tiredly panting, staring up at the underside of Peter's dirty jaw with exhaustion. "What you gonna do about him?"

"I can't give him to the cops," he says. Carnage is even more dangerous in jail. He's broken out an astonishing three (or maybe four) times, and killed dozens as he did. Killing him isn't an option. Hawkeye knows that. Peter has morals, and while Clint disagrees with them, he has enough respect not to force him out of them. That's why Peter likes Clint so much.

Running his fingers through his blond hair, Hawkeye stares down at the killer with a frown. Cletus is gripping onto the material of Spider-man's suit desperately, breathing heavy, and Clint's sure he's having an inner conflict with his other. The snow starts falling harder. The redhead shivers. "I'll drive you both to my place."

"How'll we get past them?" he nods towards the frantic group of citizens below. He's surprised choppers aren't yet circling them to get a better view.

"The same way I did." And then Clint presents a grappling hook. "This is my version of Spider-man swinging. You'll have to carry the robot."

Peter looks down at the pitiful man and exhales through his nose. _Great_.

* * *

Well, eventually, he does end up passing out. He had been hard to carry, even with his advanced... everything, but Peter manages. He gripped onto his suit the whole time, and Peter was nervous he'd tear it just like he did his mask (which Hawkeye eventually pulled over his head for him while he was carrying Cletus). In fact, being around him put him entirely on edge. What if he went fucking loco on him? Pulled the symbiote shit on him again and brought them both down?

But he never did. In fact, he just closed his bleached eyes and became heavier in his grasp as he swung alongside Hawkeye. It wasn't too far of a trip, but climbing along the side of the building and into his window proved difficult with the icy snow. Clint was the first to crawl in, setting his disruptor aside and pulling off his coat. He pointed to the couch, where Cletus would sleep, and then announced that Peter wear a change of clothes.

So he set the serial killer on the cushions and dressed in Hawkeye's stupid purple shirt without washing his cuts. When he joins Hawkeye, who is washing his hands in the kitchen sink with hot water and watching Kasady precariously, Spidey has to take a deep breath. What is he supposed to do about Cletus. Taking a seat on the edge of the couch, he watches his chest rise and fall with breaths. "Is he okay?" Peter asks, rubbing his eyes. He could really use his glasses. And a blanket. And a hot shower.

"He'll be fine. Pro'lly blinded for the next two or so days, but that's two days without him gaining sight of his next meal." They both know what that means. Peter looks down sadly, ashamed of himself. He couldn't stop Carnage from turning a human being, someone with a life, into his next dinner. Peter shoves his slowly-warming hands in the pockets of his sweats, flexing his fingers and looking at Clint, who's regarding his clothing with a cocked eyebrow. Peter is noticeably taller and scrawnier than Clint, so his sweats come up to his ankles, and his shirt is way too big. "I'll call May, get you a pair of clothes."

"Whoa, whoa, no way! I'm not having her drive to Harlem in this weather! Especially not with Kasady here."

Clint shrugs and approaches the previously mentioned villain, slapping the side of his face lightly in that 'wakey, wakey' kind of way. He ceases to stir, and Peter becomes concerned for a moment, his brows hitching. The shorter man looks at him with a cocked brow and shakes his head. "He'll be fine. Don't worry, he's breathing. Not that you should care."

"If I let him die, I'll be no better than h-"

"I've heard it, Spidey." Hawkeye interrupts with his palms up. He makes a move to get his jacket and pulls it on. Peter doesn't look away from the redhead until he hears the jingling of keys. Turning around, he sits on the loveseat and asks: "Where you going?"

"I'm gonna get you and Hannibal here some clothes and something to clean you both up with. You're welcome to shower, but I wouldn't let 'im outta my sight until I get back, if I were you."

"You don't have to do that."

"Yeah, shut up."

Then he closes the door. Clint's a good man. Peter glances back over to Cletus and places his hand on the middle of his chest. His skin is slightly scarred, and undeniably freezing, but under all that, his heart beats. Low and steady. He's human. "Kasady, what am I going to do with you?"

* * *

The rain starts up again, he hears, but not snow. Snow is quiet, and he hears the rain. It's probably gray and cold. Inside, it's warm and smells like a workshop, but there's something sweet in the air, too.

He doesn't like it.

**Wake up.**

"I am up."

**Waaake up.**

"Shut up, pig."

**I'm not a pig!**

"Yes I am!"

**HA-HA-HA. **

"Hehehe."

**Open your eyes.**

"I have."

And he has. They're open. He even makes sure to bring a hand up and yank his eyelid up. It burns, but they're open. They. Are. Open.

Then, a familiar voice shrieks: "Cletus, stop it! You're gonna hurt yourself!" He starts laughing again, and his hand drops to scratch at his side. He's on a cloth couch. It's scratchy, and when he sits up, his head throbs. He drops his forehead into his hand and groans through gritted teeth, the two rows grinding with a squeak. Something over his robotic legs falls off, a dull sounds of fabric hitting the carpet. The Spider picks it back up, and Cletus feels his presence to his left.

Cletus reaches out, and the presence stills. He's touching warm air. "Let me touch you, Peter." Then he starts giggling. **Touch you**. He leaves his hand in the air, and turns his head to where he assumes Peter is.

When he threads his fingers between his, Kasady feels each bump and bone and presses his thumb against the pads and his knuckles and draws over the scars and his fingerprints. "I'm going to steal your identity, Peter Parker."

"Why would you do that?" asks his last victim, pulling his hand away. Cletus lays back on the couch and props up his head behind his hands. He notices that he's still not wearing anything. It's cool that he can't get arrested for public nudity. Lack of a lower half and all.

"'Cause you took my eyesight."

Parker is silent and Cletus cranes his head back as if he'll see him. It's just black though. He's starting to get scared. He likes to see his symbiote and the sky and blood. He likes to see. "Only temporarily. It'll be back soon." Kasady doesn't move for a while, and reaches out again.

"What?" Peter asks, and shuffles in what seems to be his own seat.

"I'm hungry."

"Oh."

Then there's the sound of him standing, and padding further away, and Kasady rolls on his side, presses his face into the couch and inhales. It's not Parker's house. There's the sound of a fridge opening, and a crackle of thunder, and then Peter returns. "What did you bring me?" he asks, holding his hand out again. Maybe he should be more careful with throwing his limbs about. Who knows? he could probably chop it off if he felt it fit. He shoves a cold platter into his hand. "It's like, steak or something."

"Thanks," he mutters, and rips off the plastic, pulling the raw meat out and gnawing on it. It's not very good, but he's hungry. It's cold in his gums but at least it's not all iron. He hears Peter swallow beside him and wonders if he's disgusted. All he does is rip a piece of the meat off and swallows it without chewing. When he's finished, he requests two more slabs of the cow and Peter complies, and when he's finished, he just curls up and reaches out again.

"More?" Peter asks in exasperation.

"Give me the blankie."

He feels the cloth in his hands and he wraps himself in it.

**Warm**.

"I should get one!"

**No, it's like a straight jacket kinda**.

"Yeah, I guess I get enough of those." His shoulders lift and fall in a shrug.

His symbiote hums in agreement, and he nuzzles his freckled nose into the couch again. Then the symbiote purrs and he smiles. It's a weird relationship, loving a piece of him so much. Unfortunately, no one will understand, mainly because the symbiote just screeches externally. Well, really, he doesn't care. No one can touch his symbiote. It's _his_.

Peter clears his throat. "Can I ask you something?"

"Give me your tooth and you can."

"What? _No_. What the hell would you use that for?"

"What is it?"

"...What were you singing?"

This gets Cletus' attention. Huh. No one really cares about his singing. It's usually hostile and his own lyrics, and they're too focused on what he's doing to listen to him. He usually just hums to himself (usually in jail) or goes down the classic route. But when he'd scanned through the phone book, and chose his victim, Ryan Gossett, he'd burst in her room as she was listening to a song he particularly liked. He made sure to check the computer screen it was playing as he chewed on her esophagus.

Cletus sits up a little, lounging on his elbows, before inhaling.

_"Oh, yes, I said it, I said it, I said it cause I can. Today I don't feel like doing anything. I just wanna lay in my bed. Don't feel like picking up my phone, so leave a message at the tone, cause today, I swear I'm not doing anything. Nothing at all, nothing at all. Tomorrow, I'll wake up, do some P90X, find a really nice girl, have some really nice sex and she'll scream out this is great_."

Peter laughs and contributes: "Oh my God, this is great."

"_Yeah I might mess around and get my college degree, I bet my old man will be so proud of me, but sorry Pops, you'll just have to wait._"

He keeps going and Peter is laughing, but not in a mean way, in an awkward chuckle that you have when someone you like being around says something you like. It makes Kasady smile as he continues.

He doesn't hear the door open over the fall of rain.

He does hear, though, a crinkle of a plastic bag, and then, a voice he's not particularly fond of: "Parker, I didn't know you could sing- Oh." He's cold. He brings in cold air with him. Hawkeye. This must be his home.

"Peter can't sing!" Cletus exclaims, "But he likes me! Peter likes me!"

"Where did you get _that_ from, psycho?" Clint asks, opening the bag and tossing something that lands with a soft thud on or near Peter. He thanks him.

"He's my friend. I'm going to kill him someday, but right now he's my friend."

"You don't have friends, Kasady." Peter inhales sharply, as if that's the wrong thing to say, but Cletus doesn't think he's right, so he doesn't get mad about it.

"Yeah, and you do, birdshit?"

"What else can you sing?"

"The itsy bitsy birdie, blah blah blah blah blah blah. Something something something, gets its beak torn off."

"Wow. Dark. And you like Bruno Mars?"

"I think so. I heard that song but now I like it more because Peter is my friend."

"Then I know who's watching you tonight."

"Creepy."

"Take a shower, Peter. Change. I'll watch Cletus for now, but I'm heading to bed. You got this, don't you?"

He guesses Peter nods, because he doesn't hear anything, but Hawkeye says: "Great."

Honestly, given his usual banter, it's odd that he's being so quiet lately.

"Just you and me, hick."

"Fuck you, Pig!"

Peter pads off to the shower.

* * *

It's exhausting, to talk to Cletus, but Peter finds himself relaxed, albeit exhausted. He's lounging in the chair, a cheap lamp on the coffee table lit, all the lights off with a cop of coffee in his hands. Cletus hates the smell, he states, but can't stop inhaling. Also, he constantly throws off the blanket, then demands it again. He's claimed his hatred for his lack of eyesight a total of eleven times, and he talks to his symbiote a lot. Peter assumes it's his symbiote, at least. It's late in the night, or early in the morning, and the entire world is dark and bright white. Parker doesn't look outside much. Instead, he stares at Cletus' puff adder eyes and the fact that he can't stop touching his hair when he's not doing something completely odd.

He's really off his rocker, but doesn't kill him, or attempt to, even though he yells at him a few times.

He's redressed in his own sweats (Hawkeye really went all the way to Aunt May's home.) and a big jacket over his shirt. His feet are covered in socks. Hawkeye told Cletus that he could wear a hoodie if he wanted to, but Cletus shook his head and claimed that his abs needed air.

"I ain't about to kiss him!" Cletus talks to his symbiote again, giggling and huddling closer to the side of the couch, nuzzling the cushions again. It's fucking _weird_. Peter raises an eyebrow and pushes up his glasses, takes a sip of his coffee and watched Cletus in fascination. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Abruptly, so that Peter jolts in his seat, Cletus turns around and points at the wall, but he must think he's pointing in Peter's general direction. "I want you to brush my hair!"

Peter's brows hitch together. "And I want you to take me to the tattoo parlor so we can get matching butt tats."

"I mean it! I don't know what it looks like. Brush it!"

"No! It looks fine."

"You think I look fine?"

"No, you always look stupid."

"Then fix. My. Hair."

"No."

"I will eat your teeth if you don't."

"That's gross."

"FIX IT!"

"Alright, alright! Shut the hell up, Clint has neighbors!"

Peter throws off his blanket and scoots forward, running his fingers through Carnage's (surprisingly) soft hair, until it's back into a somewhat comely state. All the while, he mutters: "This is so gay."

Cletus sits up completely, throwing off the blanket again and points at him. This time, he gets his location right. Probably because he's in a closer range. "Don't tell me you don't want to fuck Scarface, man. That's bullshit."

Peter's gracious for his lack of eyesight, or else he'd see the pink tint running up his face. He _doesn't_ like Wade.

(Except a lot.)

Before he says anything, a grin slices through Cletus' face and he laughs. "Ha ha ha I knew it." It's not even a proper build up. The 'ha's come off as actual words. What a psycho. "Parker!"

His outburst makes Peter jump. "What?!"

"I am going to sleep and if you eat my heart in my sleep I will be a _very_ sad panda."

With that, he rolls over and makes grabby hands for the blanket once more. He starts talking lowly, lovingly to himself again and curls up in the blanket Pete drapes over him.

* * *

**LATE LAST NIGHT, AN ATTACK ON A COUPLE OF TWO WAS EXECUTED IN HARLEM STREET BY THE KNOWN SERIAL KILLER CLETUS KASADY, ALSO KNOWN AS CARNAGE. HE IS A POPULAR CRIMINAL AND EXTREMELY DANGEROUS. IF ONE CATCHES SIGHT OF HIM, IT IS TO BE REPORTED TO THE AUTHORITIES IMMEDIATELY. SPIDER-MAN WAS HEARD GRAPPLING WITH THE CRIMINAL AFTER HE BEGAN TO TRANSFORM. A SONIC BLAST WAS HEARD, AND THERE IS NO EVIDENCE TO WHERE THE TWO MIGHT BE.**

**HE IS A FORMIDABLE CRIMINAL AND WAS LAST SEEN ON THE ROOFTOP OF STRATTON OAKMONT. BE CAUTIOUS OF HIM AND STAY FAR AWAY.**

Written on the wall, in his own blood, Cletus has misspelled almost every word. He's crossed out letters and tried again. His handwriting is horrible. It reads:

_thx for the e_

_sleeping plac _

_thx for be in my fir_

'Fir' is crossed out.

_frend peter. your in lov with deadpool but its ok becos u can both b togeter when i kill u in heaven_

_but i will weit to kill you i liked ur steak bird face and i dont like irn man hes mean to me tell him that _

_bye CARNAGE also i can see agin !_

"That's gonna need some paint." Clint sighs.


End file.
